


He looks like a real douche bag.

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A brief mention of victim blaming but only int he context of being shushed, Also a brief mention of being cut by the bad guy, Crack, F/M, I Don't Even Know, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: So basically this is inspired byTHISpost on Tumblr re: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Which is hilarious but I digress.I needed a fic about this but it turned into this steaming heap of trash.So let me break it down for you:You're out with your gal pals and Dean shushes you. Obsession sets in. You must find him and ruin his life. You must have your retribution.Oh except then you get kidnapped and he saves your life.But he shushed you. But you're alive because of him.





	He looks like a real douche bag.

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I'm avoiding writing my WIP and I saw a post on tumblr and then ate too much sugar and now I'm jacked up and writing crack. 
> 
> That's what my life is right now. How's yours buddy?

You don’t normally sit in bars like this. Is dive bars the correct description? It doesn’t matter, this isn’t your usual haunt. You like somewhere with a vibe, some sort of effort put in, something more than ‘truckers playing pool’. You didn’t choose where you came tonight but the whole thing has been a bit of a bust so far. 

It’s Suzi’s bachelorette where everything has gone wrong. First, you got thrown out of the strip club, on ladies night. Well, it was actually Debra’s fault, she kept touching and everyone knows the rules about touching but, even though she was already drunk, you’d all followed her out of course. Solidarity and all that. Then you had actually gone to a hip little gin bar that you’d found on facebook but they’d taken one look at you all, in your pink cowboy hats with sparkly shot-glasses around your necks, and they’d laughed at you before you’d even taken a foot into the door. Apparently pink isn’t hip. 

So here you were in this place because at this time of night it’s the last vestige of alcohol that will allow eight, already drunk, plastic penis covered women to come in and drink more.

“I couldn’t get the guy at the bar to make us screaming orgasms or anything that sounds even remotely fun but he did put lots of vodka into these.” Debra is trying to make up for the strip club fiasco with eight pink attempts as some mysterious cocktail. Why the bartender let her walk away with all eight drinks balancing precariously on a tray is a wonder because you would have bet your life savings that she was going to trip.

Luckily you didn’t make that bet because she manages to put the drinks down with only minor spills.

You taste it, warm vodka with a side of pink, and ask yourself if he really wanted to sleep with Debra  _that_  bad.

With more drinks in you, it quickly dissolves into giggling nonsense even in this place. Asking Suzi if she has anything special planned for the wedding night and laughing when a bottle of tequila appears and she has to drink from her penis shaped shot glass. Because it’s the done thing at a bachelorette party. And if you never needed to google ‘ _penis shaped bachelorette accessories bulk buy express shipping_ ’ again, then it would still be too soon.

It only takes maybe ten minutes before it happens. This guy dripping in flannel storms to the edge of your table raises his finger to his lips and shushes you all.

You’re stunned for a moment and he seems to take the pause to realize what he's stumbled into. His eyes rake over all of you, dolled up to the nines and clearly all inebriated before his face falls in disappointment.

He doesn’t even explain himself, just mutters, “son of a bitch,” before he walks away, back to his booth.

“What the hell was that?” You find your voice again after being reprimanded like a child. You know you’ve had a few drinks but honestly? You’ve never been more offended in your life.

“Never mind that. I found somewhere that we might be able to go dancing!”

You’re not sure who said it because you’re still incensed and trying to burn a hole into the back of the guys dumb head when your friends all agree it’s time to leave.

“So now we’re just going to leave because of that asshole?” You tip another shot down your throat, ignoring the comfortable burn, while all of your friends are picking themselves up to get going.

Suzi is the one that giggles at you, “no we’re leaving because I want to go dancing come on.”

* * *

“Oh, my God. Look at that, he was all over you.”

“I know, I think if I weren’t getting married….”

And then squeals. A symphony of laughter that you all engage in. Nursing hangovers and huddled around a laptop in your bedroom after you elected to have everyone stay the night. Fiona is the one scrolling since she took the most pictures. She sweeps past one of you, leg kicked high in the air, playing it as a guitar, while you sing along to whatever song is being played. Someone nudges you and tells you that’s a new profile picture but you’re not paying attention. There’s something that’s been bothering you since last night, that’s still bothering you.

“All right. Listen. Can I stop all of this for one second?”

Seven pairs of eyes all spin to look at you.

“I don’t mean to derail us ‘cause this is very, very important stuff but, um, I’m getting a little hung up on something.”

Deb being the closest to you reaches out her hand to your shoulder, her expression serious, “what’s wrong?”

You slap your hands together with a sigh, “The guy that shushed us last night. Is that bugging anybody else?”

Debra nods solemnly, “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“Have you been thinking about that?”

“I really have.”

Suddenly you’re justified for the annoyance that has been gnawing at you. You’re not crazy and you never should have thought that you were. It doesn’t matter that the rest of them are looking at both of you like you’re insane.

“I just can’t let this go.”

The rest of them share a look before returning to their frivolity but it doesn’t deter you. And Deb, supportive as she is, gives your arm a nudge and whispers, “you wanna go back tonight? See if we can find him again?”

You can feel your eyes light up at the possibility of showing that idiot what for, “yes, yes I do.”

You just needed your ridiculous revenge and then you could get on with your life. That’s all this was.

It’s only when she leans in, her voice even quieter, “this is because he was hot right?” that you realize you may be the only one looking for vengeance against the nefarious shusher.

* * *

 So, you’re back at the dive. Do two nights in a row make you a regular? Probably not but three and you’ll have to start learning the names of the tough mustache guys hanging around in the back. At least this time you’re at the bar and in attire not adorned with penises or any variation of glitter.

Deb has two drinks, you have three before you spot the same bartender as the previous night start his shift.

“Hi, sir? Can I talk to you for a minute please?”

He gives you a look like he hasn’t been called sir in years, maybe ever. He doesn’t seem adverse to it though. “Yeah, sure, what can I get for you ladies?”

Deb launches in, “well we’re looking for a man.” His eyebrows shoot up. Clearly, that’s not a drink he’s made before.

“Um, yeah this guy was a real douche bag. He was here last night.” You say straight-faced.

She hits your arm as if that could stop you, “he had short brown hair, just the right length to grab on to.”

You rub your fingers like you’re trying to pluck a description from the air, “yeah, real douchey looking.”

“And he was hot. Like the right amount of scruff hot.”

“Oh God and he had the most douchey flannel on.”

Debra frowns, “I liked the flannel.”

Then you remember why you’re here, “Oh! He’s a shusher!”

The bartender is still looking at you like you’re serious and you appreciate that in a person so you continue, “I mean he’s a douche bag who goes around shushing people that he doesn’t even know.”

Deb seems to be coming to the understanding that you are actually bothered by being shushed and you’re not just looking for a hookup, so her face mirrors the bartender who is, finally, looking at you with concern for your mental health.

“Doesn’t ring any bells but I don’t really get what the problem is. If anything I remember you girls and you were pretty loud.” He moves like he’s going to walk away so you reach over the bar to stop him.

“Are you victim blaming us? Oh, I bet you think we were asking to be shushed? I bet you’d have shushed us yourself if he hadn’t gotten there first?” You’re on your feet now. “This is the problem with this country. Maybe you have never been subject to an unnecessary and humiliating shushing but trust me, buddy, when it happens, you’ll understand.”

Deb is hanging off of your arm trying to drag you away, apologizing to the poor guy as she does. She manages to get you as far as a booth before pushing you in. “Y/N what the hell? You’re acting like a psychopath.”

“Why is that? Is it because I have a trunk full of knives and zip ties and duct tape and I’m going to kidnap someone and leave them in little pieces by the docks? That guy who shushed us, he doesn’t know me. I could have been anyone, I could have been looking for my next victim.”

“You were in a pink rhinestone cowboy hat.”

You’re mumbling now, arms crossed in momentary defeat, “you don’t know what crazy people wear.”

She laughs, looks you up and down and parrots your outfit back to you, “eh yeah. Pretty sure it’s jeans and a muscle tee. Now if I get us another drink will you calm the hell down?”

You nod, annoyed, frustrated and desperate to find this guy and get what is owed to you. You will shush him if it’s the last thing you do.

* * *

 He hadn’t shown up that night. Probably frightened to show his face, probably knew what was coming to him.

Instead, Deb had tried to distract you. She had asked your opinion on the dress she’s buying for the wedding, since she didn’t make bridesmaid, and you told her that she’ll look better than any of them since Suzi has put you all in burnt orange. Everyone knows you’re a winter.

You’d drunk for a while longer until she made a decision. It’s with determination that she declares since she couldn’t have the Lumberjack, that’s what she calls the shusher now, she’d take the cool drink of water hanging out by the bar. He’d hadn’t been her normal type but as she had put it, “beggars can’t be choosers.”

After she slinked over to him and he’d greeted her with pretty open arms you’d called a cab home, watching everyone on the street as you went. Just in case he was there, taunting you.

It’s only early afternoon the next day that you finally hear from Debra, post-hookup.

**Hey Hun. Can you come pick me up pretty please? I’m all the way across town and my uber rating is shot rn. I’ll love you forever!**

You were weak and there was a really good Chinese place that side of town. She could surely buy you chow mien as payment for your never-ending generosity.

Which is how you end up outside the cute two-story townhouse, coincidentally around lunchtime, and waiting for your friend to show her face.

**I’m here. Hurry your butt up. I’m hungry and you’re buying.**

You’re rolling your eyes at an email asking for a review of ‘ _Penis shaped straws x 10 pack_ ’ when her reply comes in.

**Sorry, didn’t realize you’d be here so soon. There’s food in here if you want to come in for a bit.**

A hookup providing lunch for a friend the next day is, strangely, not the weirdest situation you’ve ever found yourself so you don’t question her message. You just turn off the engine and slide out of your car. Even the goosebumps that run up your arm as you climb the porch steps don’t deter you. And when Deb opens the door with a smile you’re more impressed than anything that she doesn’t look like she’s ready to do the walk of shame.

“This food better be good. You were gonna buy me noodles.”

She smiles at you, closing the door behind you and nods, “was I? Don’t worry this is better.”

* * *

Will anyone find your car or will they have the sense to move it? Sure now it looks fine, it’s only been there a few hours but after a few days will somebody report it? If Deb doesn’t have the sense to move it.

The guy's name is Harry, he’d introduced himself before it all went dark. You’re not sure what he’s done to Deb but whatever it is he should patent it and sell it to pro athletes because she’s different. Faster and stronger. Sure you hadn’t been expecting her to hit you over the back of the head with a baseball bat, who comes in for lunch and expects that? But the Deb you remember asked you to open the can of sauce for her the last time she attempted to cook. In other words, Deb used to be weak as a sinking soufflé and now she could hit with enough force to knock you out in one whack.

There was also the obvious question of why she wanted to knock you out. She’d never given you any reason to think it was something she was planning to do. The last time she’d been pissed at you she’d just stopped talking to you for a few days, and that was only over you ruining a dress of hers you’d borrowed. This seemed extreme for some delayed, convoluted dress based revenge, and that was from someone hunting a shusher.

Or at least you had been hunting a shusher. Now that you had woken up in this cramped cage in what you could only assume was the basement your chances of getting satisfaction were much slimmer.

The basement almost looks like any other. One wall is home to shelves that hold all the odds and ends that don’t have a place anywhere else, like paint cans and the remnants of a hobby someone never really took up properly. There’s an old sofa in another corner that looks like it’s been there for at least a decade or two based on the faded fabric. The only thing that really stands out in this particular room is the cages that line another wall, the ones you’re in. They’re not big enough for you to say, spread out, but you can see around some once your eyes adjust to the darkness.

At first, it looks like you’re alone but the sounds of quiet sobbing prove otherwise.

“Hello?” When you’d woken up here you’d decided that screaming probably wasn’t going to help considering the apparent professional level setup they had, but you figured a quiet conversation with a fellow captor probably wouldn’t hurt.

“Who’s that?” Comes back from the darkness. Whoever it is they’re a few cages over, pressed against a wall and shrouded in shadows.

“My name is Y/N. Moved in a few hours ago, nice neighborhood. What about you?”

She might have attempted to laugh but it’s all croaky and strained, “my name is Donna.”

You pause for a second thinking there’s the sound of a door opening nearby but it’s just footsteps somewhere above you. “Hey, Donna. Any idea what’s going on?”

“All I know is he comes and takes someone every few days, and they scream and they don’t come back.”

Well, that’s not terrifying.

“How long have you been here?”

You hear scratching around in the dark before you hear the answer. “A week now. Don’t worry, I’ll be next.”

Shit. How could that not worry you? Not just for Donna but you. There was no way out. It’s suddenly dawning on you, only at this second with bars digging into your back and a floor of cold metal, that you aren’t getting out of here. This, with Donna the faceless stranger, is maybe the last conversation you’ll ever have.

Despite the cold around you, there’s sweat running down your neck while the rest of your body shivers.

“Shit, is it always this cold?”

Donnas' voice is more chilling than the cold when she answers, “I asked him the last time he came down here. He said it keeps us fresher.”

If you didn’t have the panic sweats before you definitely do now. You thought maybe you were about to be sold to some creepy sex thing or possibly be taken to the woods Texas Chain Saw Massacre style but keeping you fresh? The only time you’ve ever heard of keeping something fresh it’s been food, for  _consumption_.

The footsteps stop and the door opens this time.

Each step they take down the creaky stairs matches the beat of your heart against your ribcage.

It’s only when he reaches the bottom that you see it’s Harry, his face coming in and out of focus with the limited light that spills from the open doorway above.

There’s no consolation that Donna is right. Faceless or not neither of you deserve to be here, festering away until it’s your time. But right now Donna specifically doesn’t deserve it, so when he goes to her cage and unlocks it you scream at him. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER? WHAT DID YOU DO TO DEB?”

He ignores you at first as he drags her out of her prison. It’s the first time you see Donna properly. She’s this tiny smudge of a woman, dirty and gaunt. If she hadn’t just been talking to you then you might think she’s already dead. There’s no fight left in her, even though her arms are tied in front of her like you she makes no attempts to kick her legs or run. She allows him to prop her up and then fling her over his shoulder. Once she’s secure he glances down at you, spit pooled at the corner of your mouth from your shouting and face pressed against the bars to look at him.

“You’ll find out in a few days but you’re going to be a fun one, I can tell already.”

He leaves taking the little light there is with him. With a close of the door, you’re on your own again and in the dark.

* * *

Donna had screamed. She might have looked half dead but she’d screamed until she hadn’t. The sudden silence had been worse than the noise.

You didn’t know how the neighbors didn’t hear. You could hear locked in the basement, someone must be able to hear somewhere. Except no one comes.

There’s no concept of days in captivity but you know that you fall asleep twice and both times you wake up with a water bottle next to you. Whatever it is they want you for they want you alive. 

As much as you don’t want to give them the satisfaction you’re too thirsty, tired, hungry, everything to resist. It’s all you can manage to not drink the whole thing in one swallow.

It’s some point in the vast void between sleep, you think it’s two days later when he returns.

You’d been so determined to not go out like Donna. Not that you judged her, it was probably easier, but you just couldn’t give up. You wanted to fight, make it harder for them. But you’re so weak and cramped by the time he pulls at your shoulders that your big resistance equates to nothing more than ill thought out attempt to run and pathetically flailing legs once he hoists you over his shoulder.

“Come on now Y/N, be a good girl and we won’t use your face after.” He coos like he’s soothing a baby.

Use your face? What the fuck?

He takes you to the kitchen and sits you in a chair in the middle of the room. Your arms are untied only to be strapped to the sides of the seat, your legs strapped to the chair as well.

Then Debra comes out of nowhere.

“Y/N. Sweetie. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

You see it now. Between his comments about using your face and the fact that Deb had lured you here. You see how it’s not your Deb. She never had that sneer before and she never looked at you like that before, like you were her next meal.

“What happened to the real Debra?”

Fake Deb looks at you with a touch of admiration, “the same thing that’s going to happen to you. She was dinner.”

You’d suspected something gruesome was on the cards but to hear it causes bile to fill your mouth. 

“Don’t worry though, we’re all parts of the cow type folk. Makes you last longer. But you won’t feel that” she holds a knife up that you didn’t even see her pick up. “We’ll bleed you first, we’re not  _monsters_.”

Harry, if that’s even his real name, is watching this play out with twisted satisfaction on his face while fake Deb slices a cut into your wrist. You notice, before you scream, that she’s cut across your wrist, not down the arm. So apparently she intends to bleed you slow.

She cuts again, just above the first. This time the only thing that stops your screaming is the gunshot that sounds out simultaneously.

The front door, that you can see from the kitchen, blasts backward and two men storm in, guns blazing. They shoot at both of your captors but that only seems to antagonize them, which is great. Not only did the cannibals want to eat you but they also couldn’t be killed?

It seems like forever that your rescuers fight with the face wearing cannibals but that may just be because of your focus on the blood dripping from your wrist. It’s painful and consuming. Like your heartbeat is spilling from your wrist. Only when Harry gets shot in the head and a machete beheads fake Deb, both of which are sights that will definitely haunt your nightmares, do they pay any attention to you.

“Hey Dean, we need to get her to a hospital,” the tall one urges as he bends down next to you, undoing your restraints.

You look up at the other one as he pulls out his cell phone and you see his face properly for the first time.

Motherfucker.

It’s him. It’s the guy who shushed you. In the flesh. Just walking around like he isn’t the person who got you into this mess. Yes, the connection is tenuous at best but you’re pretty sure that the real Debra would never have met Harry the cannibal if this bonehead hadn’t shushed you. It all comes back to the shush. 

“Yeah, we’ll take her to-“

“Shhhhh.”

Tall guy pulls his head back to look at you with this confused frown knotted into his face but the shusher? Oh, he looks agitated and it’s delicious.

“What the he-“

“Shhhhh.”

It’s even better the second time.

“Excuse me…?” the tall guy asks.

“Y/N,” you answer him with a satisfied smirk despite still bleeding and having just seen two quite brutal deaths.

“Ok, Y/N. Erm is there a reason you’re shushing my brother?” He’s released all of your limbs now and is wrapping a piece of fabric from God knows where around your wrist.

You look up at the shusher with a purse of your lips and attitude behind your tired eyes, “oh, he knows.”

“I really don’t sweetheart.” He’s putting his gun away but apparently still not impressed.

“Oh I’m sorry. Should I maybe go to a public place with some friends and have some fun. Maybe you’ll remember shushing me then?”

It clicks. Realisation. Hallelujah, he remembers and it’s painted all over his face. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Hey, buddy. Kind of bleeding over here, would you mind keeping it down?”

* * *

You really hate hospitals but the staff are as sweet as pie to you. It makes it easier while they’re stitching you up and doing their tests. You still discharge yourself as soon as you’re patched up but you’re at least sincere when you thank them. 

You just want to get home more than anything and do a million things at once. Shower. Sleep. Eat. Maybe cry, you haven’t decided on that one yet.

Sam and Dean, as you find out are their names on the ride over, give you a brief synopsis that you should be afraid of the dark. You tell them what a great message that is for a woman who lives alone. But despite this knowledge, there’s no place you’d rather be. At home, alone, wrapped in a warm cocoon in your bed, not thinking about the past week of your life.

The fresh air is wonderful as you leave the hospital, plus you’re on some pretty great pain medication. You’re about to call a cab when you hear it.

“Shhhhh.”

You turn around and there’s Dean leaning on his car, which is beautiful you can admit that much. 

“Really? You really came here to shush a poor battered woman?” 

He smirks like he thinks he’s Gods gift to women, which you are so not buying, and shrugs. “Nah, came to see if you needed a ride.” 

You’re suspicious and probably with good reason, “just a ride?” 

“Cross my heart,” he says opening the passenger door for you. It’s as he slides into the driver's seat that he continues, “although if you wanted to go out with me after you’ve had a few days, that’d be fine too.” 

“Shut up Dean.” 


End file.
